


Chosen Until Death Sets you Free

by Blossom



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF John, F/M, M/M, Manipulative Sherlock, Romance, Vampires, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blossom/pseuds/Blossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is the Chosen One, the Slayer, according to the Powers that Be. </p><p>He chooses not to be.</p><p>Sherlock Holmes is to be a Watcher, the Slayer's Watcher specifically, according the Watcher's Guild. </p><p>He'd rather not. </p><p>Together they work it out (or rather they don't). </p><p>You do not need to know anything about Buffy the Vampire Slayer to understand this fic. It's very loosely based in the BtVS world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chosen Until Death Sets you Free

A simple grave stone. Generic. Made of granite. Even the name engraved reads common and forgettable. John rests his hand on top of the cold polished stone, head bowed, mouth tight. Silent. 

_Inhale. Exhale._

As John shifts to stand straight, right hand tightening his grip on the cane, he allows his eyes to linger over every carved letter, following the flow of loops and hard lines.

M-A-R-Y ( _Inhale. Exhale_ ) M-O-R-S-T-A-N

John leaves, a broken stutter to his gait, and never looks back.

It’s not like there’s a body in that grave.

_________________________________________________

“The answer is no, Mycroft. I refuse to be a glorified babysitter,” Sherlock snaps, pacing the space before Mycroft’s desk. The sharp turn of his heals purposely grinds mud into the fine weaves of the rug. 

Mycroft sighs. “Only you, Sherlock, would refer to being the Watcher for the Slayer as the job of a babysitter. It’s considered an honour to be selected.”

Sherlock halts to sneer before moving on again with renewed agitation. “Then why don’t you go and select yourself. Oh wait, no. That’s too much legwork for a man with your girth. Pity. Still, too bad. I refuse to waste my life being shackled to a muscled idiot.”

“You’ll be responsible for a ‘muscled idiot’, as you so eloquently put it, either way. You can be a Watcher assigned to the current Slayer, or you can be assigned to a potential Slayer. I needn’t tell you which one contains more of your brand of excitement.”

“Or you could just let me do as I please. This tradition is painfully outdated. The Slayer,” Sherlock scoffs, hands flailing in dismissal. “What an archaic concept. Useful in the past, certainly, when they lacked the technology to put them on equal ground with vampires, demons, and whatever else they should want to slay. But now? You don’t need supernatural strength to dispose of them, just a well armed and trained individual.” 

“Sherlock, there are supernatural forces at work here. It is unwise to interfere with the Powers that Be. I’d hoped you would grow up and understand this one day. Luckily, or rather unluckily, I’ve prepared myself for the disappointment.” 

Sherlock huffs. “At least you’re not deluding yourself in believing I’ll finally see some mythical light and fall slave to the Watcher’s guild. It’s so dull.”

“Oh yes,” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “It’s so dull hunting down dark supernatural creatures, so less exciting than chasing down humans. So,” he smiles, “is the Yard welcoming you with open arms yet?”

Sherlock throws himself into an ornately carved chair, fingers gripping the armrests, seething. “You know perfectly well why they won’t take me on. One of them is interested, but you’ve been tampering with my file.” 

DI Lestrade. He’d appeared interested when he’d seen what Sherlock could do. It would have been perfect, but Mycroft, always the interfering git, put a stop to that. Vampires, Sherlock scowls at the thought. Humans, as dull and witless as they usually are, at least attempt to be clever, and sometimes, miraculously, they succeed. Vampires though, they don’t believe in using their minds, they invest solely on strength. There’s no puzzle or mastery to them. It’s hateful. 

“Sherlock, I’m not giving you a choice here. You will be the Slayer’s Watcher.”

“Shouldn’t you choose someone who, I don’t know, actually cares if the Slayer dies?” Sherlock asks disdainfully. “Not that you lot care all that much, since another one will just pop up. It just reduces their deaths to an inconvenient hiccup. Charming, isn’t it?” 

Mycroft leans back in his chair, lets out an irritated breath, and looks pointedly at Sherlock.

“Oh, I see,” Sherlock drawls. “I’m a last resort. Is the Slayer really that incompetent?”

“I wouldn’t send you even then. You’d just break them, but in this case, that’s exactly what I need you to do.”

Sherlock arches a brow. “You want me to break the Slayer. I see the Watcher’s guild is taking heartlessness to a new level these days.”

“He’s refusing his position. He’s refusing to work with us anymore. I need you to fix this.”

Sherlock grins. “Refusing the Watcher’s guild? Maybe this Slayer isn’t such an idiot after all.” 

“It’d be in your interest to complete this task as well, Sherlock.”

Sherlock brings his hands together just below his chin. “Explain, without being insufferable if possible.” 

“If you convince him not only to return to being the Slayer, but to fall under our authority once more, I’ll release you from the Watcher’s guild. If you convince the Slayer in a month’s time, then you’ll be released in a month’s time. If you somehow convince the Slayer in a week’s time, then you’ll be released in a week’s time. It’s really that simple.”

Sherlock’s eyes sharpen and focus on Mycroft. “And you’ll fix my files?” 

“I’ll fix your files and even put in a good word for you.”

A breath of a consideration. “Done. Give me the file.”

Mycroft’s mouth stretches into a smirk as he slides a folder across the desk.

Sherlock glances as the name written in black ink: JOHN H. WATSON.

 


End file.
